


If Flirting Is Like Dancing, I'd Be Stepping on Your Toes

by misura



Category: Crusade
Genre: M/M, nobody has any privacy around Technomages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-03
Updated: 2011-07-03
Packaged: 2017-10-21 00:07:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/218621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"In case you missed the memo, Lieutenant, I'm pursuing a - well, call it a 'personal relationship' with you. Having you address me by my first name is a way of de-professionalizing our current one. Besides, it's shorter, so much easier to say, or as the case may be, yell while in the throes of passion."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Flirting Is Like Dancing, I'd Be Stepping on Your Toes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladygray99](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladygray99/gifts).



The thing about space-travel (Eilerson thinks) is this: it gets kind of lonely sometimes.

Not 'I wish there were more people around to bother and bore me with their insipid little minds' lonely, of course - the division between people who just don't _get_ him and people who barely show him the kind of respect he deserves is about even on board the _'Excalibur'_ , same as everywhere, really.

And he's got his data crystals, and his own quarters, and a reasonable certainty that nobody's going to be browsing through his stuff while he's not there, and it's not as if he's one of those pathetic people who (claim to) need sex the way normal people need oxygen and food and water, but he just feels ... lonely, sometimes. It's sort of annoying - one more inconvenience on a trip full of them.

The way he looks at it, the best thing to do with inconveniences is _never_ 'grin and bear it'. That's for losers, and Max Eilerson is not a loser.

So.

 

"Hey, you. Got anything to do this evening? Anything actually _important_ , I mean," he clarifies quickly, because he's trying to be charming here, and a bit of flattery might be just what the doctor ordered.

Flying the ship and making sure they don't bump into anything and stay on course and that sort of thing are probably kind of important, yes, no argument there, but once Matheson's off-duty, Eilerson can't imagine his having anything particularly vital to do.

Matheson gives him this neutral look. Like, totally blank. "Is there a problem, Mr. Eilerson?"

If they ever get to the point where sex doesn't cut it anymore, Eilerson figures they can try playing poker. Matheson's probably great at bluffing but, you know, EarthCorps military, so much too honest to even _think_ about cheating, which is so ridiculously easy Eilerson doesn't see why anyone'd not do it.

"Naw, no problem," Eilerson says. "Just wondered if maybe you wanted to take a look at some of the material we picked up the other day. Great stuff." _If_ you happen to be a xenobiologist, maybe, but hey, a lie by omission is just another word for the truth.

"Thank you. Very thoughtful of you, but I'm afraid I need to ... work on a report. For the Captain."

Rule number one of lying: don't make it too fancy. Don't elaborate voluntarily. Don't commit to any more details than you have to, and never, ever involve someone else, unless you're absolutely, one-hundred percent sure they'll back you up.

"Okay," Eilerson says. "All right. That's fine. Some other time, then."

Matheson nods curtly, is about to walk away, hesitates, then says: "Oh, and it's 'Lieutenant Matheson'."

"I'll keep that in mind," Eilerson promises easily, not quite sure where _that_ came from, but happy enough to be given a personal form of address. Never mind that it's the same thing everyone else calls Matheson.

 

A lot of people are prejudiced against telepaths, but Eilerson isn't one of them. Open-minded, that's him. And it's not even that he hasn't got any secrets worth keeping; Eilerson's got secrets worth millions. _Billions._ It's how he makes a living, after all - by making sure he always knows just a little bit more than everyone else. IPX pays him to bring home the good stuff, but the best stuff, Eilerson tucks away somewhere, for a rainy day, or for when he needs to make a quick buck.

Not that he can foresee there ever being such a need, but it never hurts to allow for eventualities.

 

There's a meeting where Gideon talks a lot about ethics and morals, and Galen walks in just to let them know they're not going to need him the next week (seriously, what _ever_ ) and Matheson just sort of sits quietly and attentively. Eilerson is less bored than usual.

"Lieutenant Matheson," he says, when it's over and they're all getting up and of course also right at the same time Gideon says: "Lieutenant."

Matheson looks at Gideon first. Of course. "Sir?"

Gideon looks at Eilerson. Eilerson feels scrutinized. "Never mind, Lieutenant, it can wait. Why don't you and Mr. Eilerson deal with things first?"

Eilerson has never been introduced to the parents of someone he wanted to have sexual relations with, but he imagines it might feel something like this. Because the expression on Gideon's face doesn't say 'I will leave now and let the two of you talk'. Rather it says 'I don't approve of this, but you're both adults, so I guess you can make up your own minds' with maybe a hint of 'hurt him and I'll break every damn bone in your body'. It makes him wonder if the topic of his humble person has come up in conversation at some point on the bridge.

"Mr. Eilerson - " Matheson starts.

"Max, please," Eilerson interrupts him, at least partially to get a reaction.

The single arched eyebrow isn't much of one, but it's _something_ , at least. "Max?"

"In case you missed the memo, Lieutenant, I'm pursuing a - well, call it a 'personal relationship' with you. Having you address me by my first name is a way of de-professionalizing our current one. Besides, it's shorter, so much easier to say, or as the case may be, yell while in the throes of passion."

Matheson doesn't so much as blink. He doesn't actually _say_ anything either, though.

Time, Eilerson judges, for a bit of preventive spin-control. "Of course, if you're not interested in me that way, we'll just pretend this conversation never happened. I'll deny everything. We can still work together as - well, not colleagues, but people aboard the same starship. No need for things to get awkward."

"Perhaps," Matheson says, "you might send me a copy of that memo you mentioned."

Eilerson wishes people would keep their answers simple. "Sure. I can do that."

_'I'm available, not encumbered with any potentially homicidal exes and interested in having sex with you. Would you like to have dinner together - where by 'dinner', I of course mean 'sex'? Please select a reply from the answers provided below. Thank you.'_

_'Yes.'_

_'No.'_

_'Our two species are sadly not physically compatible that way, but I am flattered by your interest.'_

Simple.

He wonders if Matheson walks a bit faster, a bit slower, or at the same speed as always when he leaves the room, and whether or not Gideon's going to shove him out of on airlock while he's sleeping tonight. Oh well. What's life without a little risk, aside from comfortable, perfect and predictable?

 

The first thing Eilerson notices when he wakes up the next morning is that he's still alive.

The second thing he notices is that there's a Technomage going through his private collection of datacrystals. Or, well, his _personal_ collection of datacrystals. The one he keeps in plain sight, with the documentaries and the talk-shows and a tiny bit of vanilla porn to keep people from looking further.

"Find anything interesting?" Eilerson asks, because only a suicidal idiot would jump a Technomage, no matter what he's doing - which, in this case, is relatively harmless, if a little disrespectful. Galen could at least have waited for Eilerson to be gone.

"Not really, no." Galen turns. Eilerson gives him full marks for dramatic appearance. It's that black cloak, hood and all. With a scythe instead of a staff, he'd look like the personification of Death in Western Earth culture. "Is there another place I should be looking?"

Eilerson considers several brilliantly witty replies. "I guess that would depend on what it is you're looking for."

Galen doesn't smile. "Explain to me your interest in Lieutenant John Matheson."

Eilerson notes the full name, including rank. "Gideon put you up to this?"

"Perhaps," Galen says. Eilerson swears he's being laughed at, but silently.

"Look, what's the problem? He says 'no', fine, that's it. I'll find someone else - no hard feelings or anything. I'm not an idiot. Why do you people insist on making such a big deal out of this?" Eilerson doesn't so much resent the way this isn't just between him and Matheson anymore (or, okay, he _does_ resent that) as he resents the way everyone's suddenly acting like he can't be trusted. "Oh, and by the way, I've got a memo here that's - " Galen's cue to vanish, apparently.

"Fine," Eilerson tells the room. "Be that way."

 

It's a pretty big crew on the ship. Lots of potential people-to-have-sex-with to choose from, other than his colleagues from IPX who are obviously off-limits. A race to see who can get a message to the IPX headquarters first in order to claim a violation of the employee's code of conduct is not Eilerson's idea of a well-spent morning-after.

Matheson is quiet, competent and good-looking. He's one of those people who stand out by not standing out. Eilerson knows the type, and approves of it. Not everybody can be hogging the spotlight.

 

"It's not that I don't _like_ him," Matheson says, and Eilerson looks up from the stone tablet he's working on with a toothbrush (it _works_ ), slightly annoyed his door lock's apparently not functioning as it should, except that once he does, there's nobody there.

"So you _do_ like him/" Gideon, sounding angry. _Looking_ conspiciously absent.

Eilerson puts down the toothbrush and takes off his glasses. Maybe he's been working a little too hard recently. He's heard that sort of thing can cause hallucinations.

"I think you referred to him as a 'pain in the ass', sir."

" _You_ said that. _I_ said that he'd be ' _our_ pain in the ass'."

"Yes, sir."

"And, of course, that was before either of us actually _knew_ the guy," Gideon says. " _Now_ , I know he's not just a pain in the ass; he's worse. Rude, abrasive, self-important, arrogant - "

"I had noticed you and he seemed to be getting along better recently, sir."

"There's no such thing as 'just sex', is what I'm saying. You have sex with someone, they're not going to just no longer be there in the morning."

"I take it Galen's left again then, sir."

"Yeah. He tends to do that a lot."

"Always comes back again, too, sir. So far."

"Oh, he'll be back. We can 'expect him when we see him'. But about Eilerson - "

"I'll handle it, sir."

"I do believe that should be 'him', Lieutenant. You'll handle _him_."

"With pleasure, sir."

"Or not at all, Lieutenant."

 

Eilerson had considered not bringing up the matter at all. On the other hand, he wasn't sure if whatever Galen (because who else could it have been? the Easter Bunny?) had done to the com system wouldn't enable other people to listen to whatever was going on in _his_ quarters, too.

Generally, that would be nothing, nothing and more nothing, but there were times when he sang - hummed, really, and softly - and there was such a thing as privacy, after all.

"The com system?" Matheson might be frowning slightly.

"Yeah," Eilerson says. "Any irregularities? Say, this morning? Between nine and nine-thirty?"

Specifying the time is a calculated risk. Matheson can't not know at what time he had his conversation with Gideon, but Eilerson's betting Matheson's not going to simply assume Eilerson making inquires about the com system equals Eilerson having overheard that conversation.

"None that I'm aware of," Matheson says, adjusting his headset. "System hasn't picked up anything. Why?"

Eilerson shrugs. "No reason." He's not expecting Matheson to buy that. He's expecting Matheson to stick to the regulations, though, one of which says that smiling civilians who are lying through their teeth are not to be bullied, hit or otherwise pressed to share the truth.

One more reason to never join the military.

"Incidentally, how would you feel about dinner?" he adds.

Matheson has already half-turned back to the screen. "My quarters, seven."

 

_epilogue_

"Good night, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir."

" 'Yes, sir'? That's it?"

"My apologies, sir. I hadn't realized there would be a briefing."

"Not asking for any details, just - 'yes, sir'?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, good. I guess."

Eilerson sighs. "Okay, can someone _please_ turn that off? And by 'someone', I mean you, Galen."

It's probably his imagination that the silence sounds slightly huffy.


End file.
